


You spark my bonfire heart

by redhearted



Series: Old Friends, New Love [1]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Football, M/M, OTP Feels, Spain, Spanish National Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 10:15:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2306069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhearted/pseuds/redhearted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some days, it doesn't matter how many smiling faces he passes in the streets. None of them are David. Iker won't admit it, but he's pining.</p><p>When David moves back to Madrid, however, Iker suddenly isn't sure what to do with his yearning. What does he want, really? What were they – what had they ever been?</p>
            </blockquote>





	You spark my bonfire heart

**Author's Note:**

> Another ficlet to assuage my thirst for this little OTP of mine. 
> 
> Title paraphrases James Blunt's _Bonfire Heart_. The excerpted lyrics that prompted this fic:
> 
> _Days like these lead to_  
>  _nights like this, lead to_  
>  _love like ours –_  
>  _You light the spark in my bonfire heart._
> 
> _People like us, we don’t_  
>  _need that much, just some-_  
>  _one that starts,_  
>  _starts the spark in our bonfire hearts_

He's finally sitting across from David again. It feels surreal. David's lips twitch up into a smile, a smile Iker would return if he weren't already smiling.

There's a great sense of relief about this meeting. _You're back_ , Iker wants to say. _And you're not leaving._

"Another?" David gestures at Iker's nearly empty beer. Iker glances down, then checks his watch.

"You want to get going instead?" He can't wait to bundle David home and talk into the morning. It's been nice catching up in the bar, at a little table where no one else can hear them over the weekend night buzz, but there's a real privacy at home that can't be matched. Iker could be something of a homebody.

However, his words have an unintended effect: David laughs, and one side of his lips pull higher, lifting his smile into a smirk. In a low voice, "Can't wait to get your hands on me, huh?"

It's David's usual seductive tone, but he senses an edge of disappointment as well. Iker's mouth falls open before he has the presence of mind to gather his features into an affronted expression.

"Is that really what you think of me, Guaje? I just wanted to move our nice long chat somewhere more comfy."

Of course, now that David's brought it up, Iker _is_ thinking about sex. He clears his throat and avoids looking in the Asturian's general direction for a few beats. It's dredged up the anxieties he'd buried until the reality of David's return had manifested. What would they be to each other? In the past, it had been some strange resigned relationship, with the knowledge that each of them might not stay in the same place for long. Now...it was either fall into some friends-with-benefits situation, or - start something real.

*

David does go home with him, and Iker is feeling kind of proud that they manage to get in the door, take their coats off, pour wine, and settle on the sofa without any kissing or inappropriate touching. 

It's around three in the morning, the room dark except for a yellow lamp, when Iker yawns and knocks his wineglass over. It doesn't get on his shirt or his pants or anything stereotypical, just puddles on his coffee table. David tsks and tosses some tissues at him. "Clumsy as ever, Casillas."

"That makes no sense. I've saved more shots than you've scored, don't forget." Iker grins.

"Well, you're kinda bad at saving _my_ goals." 

"Haven't you heard? You're my 'weakness', like Cesc is yours."

David groans. "Are you never gonna let that go?"

"Never." Iker snorts. "Could you have been more transparently romantic about it? You couldn't have said, oh, you miss playing with him?"

"They just caught me at a bad time," David grumbles, swirling his wine in his glass.

"A moment of weakness, perhaps?"

"Hey, now," David threatens; their eyes meet, and he grins. "You're such a big baby, Iker. You're so jealous."

Iker begins to deny it, but changes his mind. "Can you blame me?"

There's a few seconds after which Iker starts to fear he's made the evening irrevocably awkward. He needn't have worried, however. It's David. The striker sets down his wineglass, moves close, strokes a thumb down Iker's jaw, and kisses him squarely on the lips. It's a feather-soft brush, too, the kind that instantly sends shivers down his back and sparks an insane yearning for more contact. Without fail, David lights something in him.

It's ridiculous, but that one light kiss leaves Iker breathless.

A few shallow breaths later, he regains enough composure to manage, "Couldn't keep your hands off me, huh?"

Except David kisses him again halfway through, so the second half of the sentence ends up sounding more like a whimper. Before it registers, he's leaning back on the arm of his sofa, wine-addled mind taking in the dark beauty of David's features shadowed in the dim light. When David smiles, it transports him to that green Austrian pitch in '08, and the euphoria he'd felt even after the joy of winning first had worn off. They'd had their first kiss that night in David's room after the celebrations had wound down. After all the months of cheek pecks and fraternal hugs, Iker'd melted into that first proper kiss, wanting to fuse every inch of their body together.

When Iker returns to the present, David is regarding him with amusement in his eyes. "Glad to have you back."

"Sorry," he says. He reaches out, molds his hand over David's cheek. It feels right. So he slips his hand to the back of David's neck, and pulls him in for a longer, deeper kiss. His heart is aflame.


End file.
